Myrtha Victor of West Roxbury, formerly of Lascahobas, Haiti passed away on November 29, 2025. Beloved mother of Jennifer Cedor of West Roxbury. Dear sister Yolette Antoine “Moumoun” of Haiti, Marilyn “Liline” of FL, Marie Gabrielle of Avon, France of Raynham, Garvey of Canton, Wilsa of Hyde Park, Muller of Randolph, Dalouse of West Bridgewater, Wilguens of New Jersey, Naomie of Roslindale, Rusself of West Bridgewater, Quentin of Dorchester, Noundie of IN, Ludvie of Dorchester, and the late Rossini and Ruebens. Also survived by many nieces and nephews.
Tribute by Myrtha’s daughter, Jenny:
On November 29, 2025, my life changed forever. It is a heartbreaking thing to realize that the person whose love shaped every corner of my life is no longer here. My mother was my first home. My constant. My comfort. There is no version of me that exists without her fingerprints all over it.
My mother loved loudly. Her love was abundant, steady, full of joy and intention. She took pride in giving me a life that felt whole. She made sure I never felt like I was missing anything. Every dream I had, she nurtured. Every hobby I picked up, she encouraged. She was invested in my education, checking in, cheering me on, waiting up for me during my late nights in law school, wanting to be the first person I saw when I walked through the door. She made sure I grew up surrounded by opportunity, softness, and care.
She taught me to lead with grace, even when it did not come naturally to me. I tend not to give people the benefit of the doubt, but she encouraged me to soften my edges without letting go of my strength. She worried that I would struggle to stand up for myself because I was quieter than she was. She did not understand how I came from her and yet could be so reserved. She was outgoing and magnetic, talking to everyone, lighting up rooms, creating connections everywhere she went. But she never made me feel like who I was needed to change. She simply guided me, gently, toward the parts of myself she wanted me to grow into. And she trusted that I would find my way. And I did.
She had a presence that made people turn their heads. Her red lipstick was always perfectly applied, her pearls were always in place, and she carried herself with a grace that seemed effortless. She had poise, elegance, and a sense of self that I admired long before I had words for it. I watched her move through life with dignity and strength, and that image will stay with me forever.
And then there were the moments only I got to experience. The ones that made our bond unique. Valentine’s Day gifts laid out like small celebrations. Candle lit dinners at home just to make life feel special. Trips to the theatre because she wanted me to see the world in color. Chaperoning field trips because she wanted to experience life beside me. Care packages she sent when I was away, filled with her handwriting, her scent, her love. Every gesture said the same thing. I am her heart.
Even in her final months, when she should have been the one being cared for, she was still checking on me. Asking if I had eaten. Asking if I was okay. Trying to hold on long enough to be sure that I was steady.
One of the last things she told me was that I had to count on myself. I know she meant it to make me stronger. I know she wanted me to stand firm in a world she feared would not be gentle with me. But I would give anything to count on her just a little longer. To ask her one more question. To feel her hand on mine. To hear her call my name in the way only she could.
Before I was even born, she knew me. She never questioned whether I was a girl. She claimed it with certainty and joy. She opted out of every test or exam meant to confirm it because she believed her instinct more than any doctor. She filled my soon-to-be world with pinks and yellows. She brushed off strangers who insisted she was having a boy. It was her declaration long before I arrived. I know my child. I know my joy.
My mother was extraordinary. Not because she tried to be, but because loving me was her life’s purpose and she embraced it with everything she had. Her identity was woven around being my mom. Her pride in me was endless. Her devotion was complete.
I do not know how to live without her yet. But I know this. I am who I am because she poured her entire heart into raising me. Her strength is in me. Her grace is in me. Her love is in me. And as long as I carry those pieces forward, she is not truly gone.
Visiting Hours in the Tabernacle Baptist Congregation, 575 American Legion Hwy, Roslindale on Friday, December 12th from 8:30am to 9:30am. Followed by a Funeral Service at 9:30am. Relatives and friends are kindly invited to attend. Interment St. Michael Cemetery, Roslindale.